


Johnny's Little Secret

by shiplizard



Category: Dresden Files - Jim Butcher
Genre: Gen, Pre-Canon
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2010-05-18
Updated: 2010-05-18
Packaged: 2017-10-09 13:08:35
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,265
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/87835
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/shiplizard/pseuds/shiplizard
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>A mafia errand boy worries about his junior partner. Slash implied, friendship explicit.  Rated Teen for language</p>
            </blockquote>





	Johnny's Little Secret

**Author's Note:**

> It's pre-canon and sort of AUish, just because I had to come up with a name and personality for 'Spike the werewolf-lunch bodyguard'. I chose Silver, because it's sort of nasty-ironic for Silver to be killed by Werewolves.
> 
> UPDATE:   
> This fic was written shortly after White Night came out. Even Hand pretty much obsoletes the whole premise-- not much chance these characters were all together at this time in their lives. But them's the breaks of a live canon, and I consider the story cute enough that I'm leaving it up.

Ricky Silver was half sick to his stomach and trying not to show it. It wasn't the pouches of cocaine burning holes in his suitcase; it wasn't the sneers of the Long Island natives who didn't like such low-rent guys in their high-rent neighborhood.

No, the problem was a lot closer to home.

He strolled along the little street to the hotel, flanked by his two junior partners-- bad little Johnny Marcone on the left, bopping along in his own little world, and the youngest, Frank Hendricks, a little behind the right. He looked nervous. Hendricks always looked nervous, for such a big guy-- always thought people were looking at him. Well, yeah, they probably were. He was about the size of a truck, and the poor guy had bright red hair on top of it.

The girls were all looking at Johnny, in his leather coat and his ripped jeans, with his grass-green eyes.

As they approached their hotel, Ricky steeled himself, and looked over to Marcone. "So, Johnny, there's something I need to talk to you about."

"About the deal?"

Ricky winced. "In public, you little retard. No deals spoken here."

"Nobody can hear us." Johnny waved a hand at the empty space around them. "Nobody for fifty feet around."

"You don't fuckin' know that!"

Johnny's eyes focused, suddenly, laser-green. "Yeah I do."

Ricky went quiet. Johnny might be younger than him, but sometimes he scared the shit out of him.

The laser-gaze cut off without warning, Johnny's face melting into a smile and a laugh. "So what's this about? Your new haircut?"

"What about my hair?" Ricky's hand went up automatically to touch the carefully gelled spikes.

"It makes you look like a faggot, is what, not that you've asked me."

"Aw, fuck you, Johnny." He jerked his head away, nervousness crawling up his skin. Their hotel was only a block away. "Hey, Franky, I'm starving. You starving?"

"Little hungry," Frank mumbled. "Yeah. Sure."

"You wanna go grab us some burgers or something. Not McFish. Fuck McFish, I hear they got sawdust in it."

"Sure," Frank mumbled, eyes dropped.

"Hey, hey, don't come back empty handed because you're too shy to order. Get lost, I gotta have a heart to heart with Johnny."

"Yeah, Ricky."

"Pick me up something sweet. How bout a pie?" Johnny flashed a smile at Frank and dug out a five. "See you."

He waved at Franky and then walked the rest of the way to the hotel in silence. Ricky fished out the key and unlocked the door; Johnny pushed past him.

"So what the fuck's your problem?" he asked, irritated.

Ricky shut the door, locked it, deadbolted it, and stood facing it. The panic was coming over him like a summer storm, making his skin itch.

He tried to cover it up with calm but when he turned to Johnny all he could do was stand there with wide eyes and beg to know:

"JEEZUS, Johnny, how dumb are you?"

Johnny blinked and stepped back. "What?"

"Fuck. Fuck. Do you know what I did last week? When we went out clubbing?"

"Last I saw, you were scoring with that little Cubana number. How'd that go?"

"It didn't go, Johnny. It did not go." Ricky held up his hands like he was shaking an imaginary baseball, or wringing Johnny's dumb throat. "I saw you talking to one of the Risto gang. The fucking Jamaicans, Johnny?"

"We were just talking," Johnny said, rolling his eyes.

"Just talking you were fucking not, my friend. Because I saw you leave with him."

He saw Johnny's eyes ice over, saw him get real, real calm. Scary, how he did that, stepped back from behind his eyes like suddenly he was behind bulletproof glass.

"I thought you were doing something dumb, selling drugs, something, I don't know-- oh, shit, I followed you to Wolf Lake-" Ricky broke off in a flurry of motion, turning away and pacing, arms working like semaphores to say what his words weren't saying so well. "Jesus. JESUS. Fogging up the windows like a couple of kids at a drive in. What the fuck, Johnny."

"I got no idea what business that is of yours," Johnny said, his face and his voice smiling casually, his eyes still ice.

"Headline news, dipshit, Marco Vargassi doesn't like you. And you're just gonna hand him something like this?"

Johnny leaned against a wall, perfectly relaxed, but he was doing a laser gaze again. "I ain't handing anybody anything."

"You're handing Pretty Devon your dick, for Christ's sake!"

"Well he ain't gonna tell. And I'm not gonna tell," Johnny said reasonably. "You're the one who's going running to Marco, so I don't see why you're yelling at me."

Ricky whirled on him, face frozen in shock that his junior partner could be so dumb. "I'M NOT GOING TO MARCO."

"Nah?" Johnny looked so casual, but Ricky had been his friend for years. He could see surprise and caution hiding under the ice. "Me and another guy, you don't want me off your crew?"

"No. No! I don't care what you do with him, Johnny. Get a house at the lake. Get some cats. Get some fuckin' doilies. I don't care, I don't want to know, just be CAREFUL." He sat heavy on the bed, looking up at Johnny. "I can follow you, one of Marco's boys can follow you. He finds out something like this, he doesn't even have to have you hit. He just lets it slip and a couple boys with crowbars solve his problems for him."

Johnny was almost frowning. "Marco doesn't give a shit, not really. He wouldn't have me followed."

"God, Johnny. You're a smart guy, you're quick on the draw, how are you this dumb?" Ricky despaired. "People notice you. People like you, people trust you, Tony Vargassi keeps throwing important jobs your way-- they don't send thugs like us to do these big deals, but Big Tony likes how you talk. Likes how you do business. Marco thinks you're a threat."

"Marco's wrong."

"Well you go tell him that, because he is keeping an eye on you, real close." Ricky shook his head.

"So I'll be more careful."

"Thank you. Thank you, you will be more careful. That's good." Ricky puffed out a breath and looked up at the ceiling as if there was something helpful written there.

Johnny was silent, leaning against the wall. They were both quiet for a long time.

Johnny said, finally, uncomfortably: "I like girls, Ricky. I do."

"I know you like girls, Johnny," Ricky said, looking up at him. He was exhausted. "And you like Pretty Devon, and I don't want to know anything about that."

Johnny shrugged. "He's pretty."

"DO NOT WANT TO KNOW." Ricky held up a hand, waving it in the air to fend off the words. "Shit, kid, you're trouble."

The ice melted off a little bit, and Ricky knew what he'd said had sunk in. "What are you going to do?" Johnny asked uncomfortably.

A shrug. "You're my best friend." Ricky said, shaking his head, lifting a hand like he was tossing something away. Like his common sense, obviously. "I'm going to look out for you. I'm going to keep you safe."

Probably get killed doing it, one of these days.

But the ice cracked, and Johnny smiled at him, and he felt like he'd just been knighted. Did the kid really not know why Marco was scared of him? Did he really not know what he did to people?

He'd better learn fast.


End file.
